


You'll Get the Message (By the Time I'm Through)

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Seduction, Sith Luke Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13379442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: “Oh, Mr. Calrissian,” Skywalker chuckled, a soft and curiously gentle sound for someone with the power to kill him with little more effort than a sneeze. “I amnoJedi.”





	You'll Get the Message (By the Time I'm Through)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



“Do you know why we are here?” The Empire’s agent―Skywalker, because when Lando had bad luck he had it in _spades_ ―asked, raising his wine glass. Lando watched him; he was unhurried, his mouth slack, his eyes dark but not cruel; unreadable. He’d make a damn miserable mark, that inscrutable face; he would eat Han alive.

 _Han always had a soft spot for the pretty ones anyway_ , he thought. A good thing he wasn’t at this dinner “date”; though being stuck in a room with literal sithspawn with an entire brigade of stormtroopers outside his door was not Lando’s version of an ideal date. He eyed up the Sith, whose face still told him nothing ― the expression carefully neutral, the delicate fingers just lightly playing with the stem of one of Lando’s priceless champagne glasses. Skywalker was a beautiful man; his golden hair suited the light complexion, and the eyes were the type that both smugglers and princes could get lost in.

Lando swallowed and chose to play his cards close to his chest. Temptation would not do. Dealing with a Sith meant keeping his wits about him; he’d be a dead man if he didn’t.

“I would assume for our tibanna deposits,” he said, softly. The truth if not the whole truth; he’d been selling to the Empire and Rebellion both for years. He poked experimentally at the limp vegetable on his plate; it wiggled miserably under his fork in a way that he would have found alarming if he’d any idea what it was. It was green, some sort of outer―rim vegetable; it had no odor, but it was hardly what he would have thought the son of the second most powerful man in the Empire would eat.

Skywalker leaned back, his eyes focused on Lando in a way that made Lando fight to keep from squirming. Skywalker’s eyes spared nothing in their appraisal, he knew; he met the man’s eyes, and they stared at one another for a moment before Luke leaned back in his chair and smiled, cocking one eyebrow. Whatever he saw had pleased him, but Lando felt no relief ― he was still, after all, trapped with the Empire’s most dutiful son.

“A good guess and one I’ve often talked with my father about,” Skywalker said, musing perhaps more to himself than to Lando. Lando, again, said nothing. “I do think we should be nationalizing the Empire’s bountiful resources rather than leave them to well, people like you, Calrissian, but ― no, this is more a personal matter.” His lips faltered a second; a sort of half-second grimace, before he turned toward Lando.

“I’m here for my sister,” he said. Those brilliant blue eyes shone on him like spotlights and he fought the urge to writhe in discomfort. “Leia.”

“Leia _Organa_?” He gaped for a moment, trying to reconcile the fierce Rebel leader with the Sith in front of him. They looked little alike; Skywalker’s hair was a crisp blond with eyes as blue as Corellia's oceans; Leia was dark-haired, eyes flinty. There was an ill-suited gentleness to Skywalker that was decidedly not present in any of the image’s he’d ever seen of Alderaan’s wild princess. Though both, it seemed probable enough, could be the children of Darth Vader; ruin followed both of them, chaos bobbing in the wake of their visit.

And here was Lando, enjoying one of those “visits” as they spoke.

“Yes.” Luke’s hand reached across the table with a fluid grace, those pale, long fingers lightly touching Lando’s own. “Something _dear_ to me has been stolen, Calrissian. I require your aid in returning her to her proper place ― _with her family_.”

“I ― I don’t know how I could help, but,” Lando swallowed, withdrawing his hand slightly. “I’m your man, I suppose.”

 _It isn’t as if I have much choice,_ he thought, taking a swig of his own wine. He was well aware Skywalker had parked enough Star Destroyers in the surrounding star-systems to wipe Bespin off the map, if it came down to it.

“You are uniquely placed to aid us,” Skywalker said, ignoring the way he had pulled away and instead, moving forward. He pressed his hand upon Lando’s shoulder. The eyes glowed almost yellow in the candlelight, and the large smile on the other man’s face did little to set him at ease. “My sister is in the hands of a most awful man ― I believe you have heard of Han Solo?”

A damnably long rope, Lando recognized, was hanging in front of him. This was a noose, though nothing on the Sithspawn’s damn face betrayed it. His eyes were warm, concerned. Lando’s stomach turned in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he wondered just how much of that Jedi mumbo―jumbo about mind control was true.

“Oh, Mr. Calrissian,” Skywalker chuckled, a soft and curiously gentle sound for someone with the power to kill him with little more effort than a sneeze. “I am _no_ Jedi.”

Lando gawked, his mind short-circuiting at the implications. “I―I'm sorry?” He stumbled with; had he spoken aloud? His blood chilled. He was certain he had _not_.

Skywalker stood, abruptly, and he found himself actually afraid― _afraid_ _!_ ―of this man, which was ridiculous; surely all those old stories were―

Skywalker’s hand fell into his hair, and he mussed it gently. “Your thoughts betray you, Calrissian. You should take care to keep them closer ― I tolerate a certain amount of rebellion, but the Emperor and father, ah…” He leaned down in a way that made Lando’s heart speed up for all the wrong reasons. “My father does _not_ tolerate dissension.”

“I u―understand,” Lando said, his well―trained poker face falling like so many cards as he gaped up at Luke Skywalker, noticing for the first time that the young man bore no insignia of his rank. Luke’s smile turned upward at the corners, reminding Lando of nothing so much as annihilation. He raised two arms in a peaceful gesture, and the Sith grabbed them and Lando swallowed.

_His hands were so cold._

“You haven’t answered my question,” Skywalker murmured, his fingers playing lightly at the edge of Lando’s sleeves. He got the sense that Skywalker was not the sort to sit still; it would humanize him if he wasn’t so terrifying.

 _There doesn’t seem to be much point in answering if you can read my mind_ , he thought, the anger pulsing through his thoughts before he could quite realize what he had done. When reality crashed into him a few seconds later, he opened his eyes wide in horror. Shit.

“I prefer hearing voices to reading minds,” Skywalker said with a sigh, dismissing his mental grumbling. “Mind reading can be so ― _discombobulating_. And you do have a particularly nice voice. I would enjoy hearing it.”

Lando was not quite sure that was a compliment.

“I know him,” Lando said, forcing himself to keep focused on Luke. Dark gloves covering hands; black, leather or some type ― _shaak_ , he thought, judging by the velveteen softness. “We ran together a while. Running little cons, some numbers games. But I’m legitimate now, and Solo…” He trailed off, willing himself not to think of what he knew of his friend.

“Is a _degenerate_.” Skywalker said, the word all but a curse. The grip tightened; there was power in those slender fingers. “Though I suppose it is not entirely his fault. My sister…” Luke chuckled. “Well, she’s been trying to stay out of father’s grasp for a long time.”

“Oh,” he said, and he forced himself to stay neutral in his thoughts, because whatever he thought would, he knew, end him. But Luke, damn him, seemed content to let the moment continue, and said nothing, leaving Lando to his traitorous mind. “Family uh…it can be a tough thing.”

“Hm,” Skywalker said, squeezing his hands again. “Do you know much about the rebel agents you’ve been selling to?” Luke tweaked his chin in a way that might have been cute had the words not been so terrifying. “Did they tell you, what they did to _us_?”

“No,” Lando said, unsure what Skywalker was referring to. He’d had dealings with the Rebellion―any tibanna dealer worth their gas did, the Organas and the Mothmas of the underworld had deep pockets―but he’d taken pains to have it be plausibly deniable. Unfortunately, that mattered little, when you were dealing with a mind-reading sith―spa―no, he caught himself. _Neutral thoughts._

“Hm,” Skywalker abruptly let go of him, collapsing into the chair next to him with a delicate grace and watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Well, I will tell you about the people who you are committing crimes for. Misdemeanors, I know;nothing serious, in your view,” he said, waving a hand. “Regardless.”

He leaned in close as if he was sharing a secret with Lando, and Lando swallowed, his hands clammy. Skywalker had definitively gotten under his skin, and he expected he would be lucky if he got out of this with just being uncomfortable.

“My sister and I were stolen from our father when we were born. Cut out of our mother; she was ― _disguarded_. Like trash.” Skywalker’s mouth looked vicious for the first time, bursting into a snarl; Lando counted himself lucky that he wasn’t the subject of the Sithspawn’s anger. “They took my sister and me, separated us, gave us to separate ― what would you you call them? ― _freedom fighters_. Or, in my view, _terrorists_. My sister went with the Organas, and I to some starving couple on Tatooine.” He smirked. “Luckily, my adopted family was as clumsy in hiding their tracks as they were motivated by their ideals; my father found me when I was 10 and made an example out of them.”

Lando allowed himself to think of that for a moment, the hair on his arms rising at the thought of it _― a young child, thin and hungry, hiding in a corner, sobbing, as a red lightsaber thrummed_ ― and then he realized that it was not a thought at all, but a memory ― and not his _own_.

Lando took a shaky breath. “That’s―terrible.”

“Hm,” Luke said, those odd―yellow-tinged eyes looking back at him. “I am _thankful_. It was a horrible existence. Now I am―what I was _meant_ to be.” Luke shook his head. “That is the fate of those who flail against the Empire. One day ― we’ll find my sister’s kidnappers, and I’ll give them much the same. She was not as lucky as I; she was raised on a diet of lies.” Luke’s hand went to his side, his hands on the dull cylinder that hung there. Lando had little doubt it was a message―one intended for him as much as the Organas.

“You perceive _much_ ,” Luke hissed, leaning forward. Both hands sought contact with Lando’s face. “As I said, the Empire does not tolerate dissension. You know what I have at stake; now it is at stake for you, _too_.” His hands tightened infinitesimally over Lando’s cheeks; not enough to hurt, but a potent reminder of the fact he could make Lando do so if he chose. “Now, I know you and the smuggler are ― _friends_. You get Solo _out of my way_ , and he lives. All I want is my sister, and I will do anything to recover her ― _do you understand_?”

The image once again bore out in front of him: a red lightsaber humming, a woman screaming, then a man. A body fell in half before the child’s eyes and then the vision was gone, replaced by Skywalker’s full blue gaze, bearing down on him in nothing so much as pitiless mercy. “Won’t you help me?” he whispered, damn him, and Lando felt the atmosphere in the room amplify.

He nodded, feeling the air leave his lungs in one ragged exhale. The Sithspawn smiled, soft leather glove gliding across his cheek.

“Like ― Like I said,” Lando said, trying to smile. It was a poor effort, he knew; he was too terrified to do much more than breath. Still, he knew he would live or die based on his words, and, as always, Lando chose them carefully. “I’m your man.”

“Excellent.” Luke grinned, though there was nothing joyous about it, and leaned in, sealing Lando’s damnation with a searing kiss.


End file.
